"Why—er—what do you mean?" asked Bowles.
"Well, did he shore enough do that, or was you jest stringin' 'em?"
"Why, yes, certainly he did! Haven't you ever heard about Selim, the diving horse? How long ago was it that you were at Coney Island?"
"Who—me?" inquired Brigham. "Never was there," he replied with engaging frankness; "never been outside the Territory. Say, you didn't think I'd shore been there, did ye?" he questioned eagerly.
"I certainly did," replied Bowles. "Of course, I knew that you were drawing the long bow this evening—but how did you get all this information if you've never been there?"
"Heh, heh, heh!" chuckled Brigham, rolling over on his bed. "Say, this is pretty good, by grab! Feller comes clear out hyer from New York, and I take him in, too! W'y, pardner, I was with a carnival company down at the Territorial Fair last fall, and that was the nearest I ever got to Coney; but they was a feller there—the ballyhoo man for Go-Go, the wild boy—and he was always tellin' me about Coney, until I knowed it like a book. Yes, sir, I jest camped right down and listened to that spieler; and he was shore glad to talk. Talkin' was his business, and he'd been at it so long he'd got the habit—couldn't help it—all he needed was some feller to listen to 'im. But all he'd talk about was Coney Island. Been there for years and didn't know nothin' else—and he shore filled me up right. Learned me all his spiels and everythin', and when I come back from winterin' in that Phœnix country I tole 'em I was back from New York. New York and the Great White Way—and Coney.
"But you shore strengthened my hand immensely, pardner, the way you he'ped out to-night. Now, we want to stand pat on this—don't tip me off to 'em—and pretty soon I'll have 'em all spraddled out ag'in. Hardy Atkins and that bunch, they make too much noise—they won't let me talk at all—but you watch me go after Bar Seven and these stray men. I'll tell ye—you put me wise to a whole lot more stuff, and I'll frame up another come-on. How's that now?"
"All right," agreed Bowles, yawning sleepily. "Good-night!"
He dropped back into his blankets and covered up his head; but Brigham failed to take the hint.
"Got any more divin' stories?" he asked, with gentle insistence. "They bite on them fine. Or a hawse story! A cowboy thinks he knows all about hawses. Go ahead and give me one now, so I can spring it on 'em in the mornin'—I got to have somethin' to come back at 'em with. They're always throwin' it into me about being a Mormon—I jest wanter show 'em that I've got the goods. Go ahead now—tell me somethin'!"